


powerlines in our bloodlines

by agent_orange



Category: Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Sugar Daddy, American Politics, Anal Fingering, BDSM, Daddy Kink, Face Slapping, Feminization, Fisting, Hand Jobs, M/M, Older Man/Younger Man, Oral Sex, QPQVerse, Washington D.C.
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-16
Updated: 2016-03-16
Packaged: 2018-05-27 04:13:50
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,313
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6269191
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/agent_orange/pseuds/agent_orange
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Washington growls low into Alex’s ear and let his teeth skim over the sensitive skin, and then without warning, he scoops Alex off the counter and hefts him up, unwaveringly solid as he carries Alex to bed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	powerlines in our bloodlines

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Quid Pro Quo](https://archiveofourown.org/works/5880157) by [rillrill](https://archiveofourown.org/users/rillrill/pseuds/rillrill). 



It’s late, and the slight creak of heavy footsteps on his (hardwood, fuck) floor prompts Alex to look up, glancing at his watch in the process. _23:03_. Probably it isn’t great that he didn’t hear a key in his door until after the fact, but it’s just Washington, tie slightly loosened and weary-eyed. ( _No one else even has a key_ , Alex thinks.) He’d sent Alex home hours ago, once it became clear that the charity dinner he’d been drafted to speak at was going to be a long one. So Alex had left the already-empty office, picked up dinner at Safeway (a Cobb salad and chips for himself, and some soup for Washington, just in case), and settled in on the couch with his laptop, C-SPAN on TV in the background.

“I don’t think I’ll ever get used to charming donors,” Washington says as he toes off his loafers “Martha’s much more suited for it. She actually raised that as a selling point for our arrangement.”

Only half-paying attention, Alex says, “You’re plenty charming,” typing out a few more thoughts on potential co-sponsors for a national standardized curriculum bill. He’s sure as hell not going to let Texas dictate what’s in the country’s textbooks, not if he has a say. “Okay,” he says more to himself than to Washington. “That’s enough for now.” Shutting his laptop, he stands and stretches, feeling the return of the ache in his back. It dawns on him that he’s supposed to have been doing exercises for it and has no excuse not to—he’s got the Senate staff gym to use and some resistance bands dangling off his kitchen table.

“What’s that, princess?” Washington asks. Though he’s only been to Alex’s new apartment twice, he moves around the space with his trademark ease, like he owns the place. _Well_ , Alex thinks, _he kind of does_. Being Washington’s policy director came with a raise, naturally; Alex doesn’t mind that his hours are even longer. Every month he’s got loans from Columbia to pay down, and on his own, affording this place—the entire first floor of a Dupont townhouse—would be a stretch. Alex’s commute is shorter now, and he’s close enough to Washington’s apartment, but more importantly, he’s got a gleaming new fridge and dishwasher, in-unit laundry, a reading nook… He’s never been so lucky; the first time he even had his own bedroom was during his final years of college.

The biggest perk, of course, is that he lives alone (though loneliness strikes at times). He doesn’t need to spare a thought about John as he watches Washington scrub his hands clean before pushing onto his tiptoes for a kiss.

“I see you weren’t working too hard,” Washington says with a smirk, and it’s only then that Alex remembers the two ciders he’d drunk while waiting, making the pleasant light-headedness return.

Alex bites his lip, tracking how Washington’s eyes follow the movement, growing darker and more dilated. He’s having some trouble keeping his own eyes open and yet there’s an anxious energy buzzing over his skin; if he doesn’t do something about it, tomorrow it’ll be in his veins and his head all day. Burr’s sure to be back on the Hill next week for his firm, and self-restraint is always hard, especially when his face is just so damn _punchable_.

Another long moment passes while Alex considers his options, weighing how much to push Washington tonight. Tomorrow’s busy for him and Alex’s own schedule isn’t exactly wide open.

“Sorry, Daddy. I’ll get you something to drink.” He grins, fingers a little clumsy on the knot as he undoes Washington’s tie completely. “Maker’s?” There’s a bottle in Alex’s fridge; Washington brought it over when Alex first moved in, along with bags full of groceries and pantry staples. And not just peanut butter and ramen either: no, Alex’s cabinets are brimming with things he’d never buy himself: brown rice and fancy chicken stock, and there’s kale and _duck breast_ in his fridge, he thinks. (He’s changed so much. Jesus Christ. Sometimes he feels like he was less of a douche while working at PolitiFinder.)

Washington’s hand is hot on Alex’s side through the worn cotton of his undershirt. But he says, “No. Something different tonight, I think. An old fashioned would be refreshing. One would think, wouldn’t they, that a charity dinner with an open bar would serve more than beer, wine, and Midori cocktails.”

It’s not a question exactly, but Alex hums his agreement anyway. It’d only take a minute for Washington to make his own drink, though he doesn’t mind. Alex is moving up in the world and gaining respect (if not some contempt also) in his new job, but he enjoys being Washington’s right-hand man, bringing him things, from coffee and a cornbread muffin to fresh clothes or a copy of some arcane piece of legislation he says might be useful—whatever he needs, on the clock and off. It’s a point of pride, he’d admit, being trusted to do so, and he makes a little show of adding bitters, sugar, and water, and topping the drink off with a (frankly disgusting) maraschino cherry.

Trying to remember what he actually bought himself, Alex says, “I don’t think I’ve got any citrus, sorry.” He hands it over anyway, hopping up to sit on the kitchen island and letting his legs swing a bit. It’s an invitation as much as a perch, a convenient place to watch as Washington sips at his drink.

Washington’s brows crinkle a bit as he drinks, and Alex wonders, not for the first time, how he keeps them so perfect. “It’s good, Alexander, thank you. You could use more bitters next time, but it’s all a matter of personal taste, of course.”

“Buy me some more, then.” He’s gotten better at teasing, at provocation, now that Alex doesn’t need to worry that he’ll lose his job if he pushes Washington too far. The thought does creep into his head sometimes, late at night when he can’t stop the swirling waterfall of his thoughts long enough to get some sleep, but at least the worry isn’t rooted in reality. Asking Washington to buy him things stirs up pangs of guilt every now and then, the feelings that Alex doesn’t deserve the attention, but the bitters aren’t even for his own use and Washington does love to indulge him, as he’s reassured Alex on more than one occasion. The glass is pressed into Alex’s hands as Washington steps closer, right into the space between Alex’s legs so they’re almost flush.

“Try it for yourself, my boy. You did well,” Washington says, and then he’s letting his hand splay so that his fingers press into the dimples in Alex’s back.

He takes a sip—whiskey somehow tastes worse to him in a cocktail—and hands it back over, not breaking eye contact as Washington downs the rest of it in one go. This close, Washington smells like dark beer and black pepper, the usual scent of his own skin buried under the day’s buildup. The glass dropping into the sink is loud in Alex’s ears, and then one of Washington’s thick fingers is hooking under Alex’s chin and pulling him closer, slowly, until their mouths touch.

It’s possible that the drink tastes better on Washington’s tongue slipping into Alex’s mouth, but it’s more likely that Alex is just weak. He’s wanted this all day, all yesterday, too, and before that; since the Jefferson-Madison debacle, Washington has been cautious bordering on distant. Casually affectionate with his staff, especially Lafayette and Reed, it seems to Alex like Washington’s been second-guessing every touch during the workday. They haven’t fucked in the hideaway again, and Alex gets it, but god, he misses it.

“I got you soup,” Alex says (like an idiot, fuck, he should shut up and focus on how Washington’s fingers are pulling strands of his hair loose). “Broccoli cheese. In case you were still hungry after dinner, I mean.”

“So considerate,” Washington breathes, and then bites Alex’s neck, bringing a sharp sting to the surface. “‘m not hungry for that right now,” and Washington’s control is slipping, his words growing soft and sweet like molasses. It’s the alcohol, the exhaustion seeping into his bones, but Alex rarely hears him like this and he knows he’s getting hard in his boxers and that Washington can tell. Can see it, shit, his boxers are the cheap cotton kind from CVS. He lets himself be kissed again, more roughly as he digs his nails into the back of Washington’s neck in hopes of stripping away any restraint that’s left.

It works. Washington growls low into Alex’s ear and let his teeth skim over the sensitive skin, and then without warning, he scoops Alex off the counter and hefts him up, unwaveringly solid as he carries Alex to bed. Perceptive as he is, Washington probably knows how much it turns Alex on, feeling small and breakable.

The way he’s dropped onto the bed (bigger than he’s ever had before) makes Alex feel a little self-conscious, hyper-aware of his state of undress. Washington’s still in his crisp gray suit, pale blue fabric of his shirt straining a little as he strips. Alex sits halfway up, undoing the buttons and kissing down, down, down as more of Washington’s brown skin is revealed, his undershirt dropped onto the floor. He takes his time, though, feeling the weight of Washington’s belt in his hands, half-wondering if that could ever be on the table. 

Not now, anyway. Washington unzips his fly and all Alex wants is to suck his cock. Alex wriggles up a bit so he’s still on the bed but seated, eyes level with Washington’s crotch. Everything feels all golden-tinted and slow because of the alcohol, leaden fingers tugging Washington’s fine wool trousers down.

Without thinking, Alex leans forward and rubs his cheek against Washington’s silk boxers like a cat demanding attention. He lets himself appreciate the smooth slipperiness before pressing his open mouth to the fabric covering Washington’s cock.

“Please, Daddy.” His voice goes breathy. Looks up at Washington through his eyelashes and discerns the tiny spots of tension in his jaw, his fingers and core. They’re almost imperceptible. “You didn’t let me touch you all day. I wanted it so much, watched you all day. Please, can I?”

There’s a waver in Washington’s answer. “Please what?”

“Fuck,” Alex says under his breath. “Please let me suck your cock, Daddy. I need it, fuck my mouth, _please_ —”

On Washington’s exhale, Alex pulls his boxers down too and skims his nails down the smooth expanse of Washington’s inner thigh. He flinches back, a little noise of distaste from his throat. He doesn’t say _don’t_ ; doesn’t need to. Alex drops a kiss over the spot, sucking in deep breaths, and actually closes his mouth around Washington.

The alcohol’s made his jaw relax so Alex is sloppier than usual, licking wet circles around Washington’s dick. He’s warm in Alex’s mouth, heavy. Something to be savored, but he wants it too much to go slow. Washington pets Alex’s hair a little clumsily, brushes his thumb over Alex’s cheek on the way down.

“That’s it,” he says, approving yet restrained, which is all it takes for Alex to let his thoughts float away and just open his mouth. Washington does most of the work, canting his hips forward until Alex’s mouth is full.

He loves this: pressing the flat of his tongue to as much of Washington’s erection as he can take, being used for his mouth. Alex grips one of Washington’s muscled thighs for balance, his other hand closed around the base of Washington’s cock as he bobs his head. He’s not going for anything particularly fancy, just wet heat and a steady rhythm. And Alex knows he’s unstoppable with a pen in his hand but the way Washington’s breath hitches makes him feel fantastic at this, too. Boosts his ego.

There’s a sharp tug at the back of his head—Washington winding his fingers into Alex’s hair and pulling the bun loose, tugging him back. It’s a silent command to breathe; Alex obeys.

“Princess,” Washington drawls, making Alex’s dick jerk in his boxers. He’s already so turned on. “I believe you asked for something. Are you going to do it?”

 _God_. It seems possible, if not likely, that Alex’s brain has melted into goo. He barely registers saying, “Yes, Daddy,” and licking his lips. Full awareness sinks in again as he lowers his head, letting Washington’s cock slide as far back into his throat as he can. The little choking sound Alex makes isn’t entirely accidental; he knows the effect it has.

The tears pricking at his eyes are from Washington keeping him in one place, gagging him, while tugging at the roots of Alex’s hair. It’s so good, a sharp, concentrated pain, Eventually, his jaw’s going to ache from the position, and he’s going to like it until it’s a dull soreness tomorrow. He’s only dragging in these little gasps of breaths when Washington lets him, pulling Alex off by his hair. Really, he’s just using Alex for his mouth, the back-and-forth movement of Washington’s hips guiding his cock.

But Alex wants to do the work for him. When Washington lets him off again, his throat is starting to feel all raw and fucked. “Let me,” he says, and makes a show of the way he wraps his lips around Washington and slips down, half-smiling. His mouth must be red by now. This way, Alex still has Washington’s cock in his throat but there’s a couple inches of room for him to move around.

He uses his hands too, pressing lightly at Washington’s balls, keeping them warm. There’s not enough coordination in his body for him to do anything more with his fingers, though it doesn’t seem to matter, because he hears Washington sigh and sees that his eyes aren’t open anymore.

“Baby,” he says softly, dropping his fingers to run up Alex's throat. “Look at you. So beautiful.” Alex moans, he can’t help it, and feels how the pressure on his neck increases. “My slutty baby boy.”

Not coming right then requires significant restraint, and Alex digs the heel of his palm down against his dick, letting the pain distract him. He’s not going to come before Washington does. He’s _not. I’ll be good_ , he wants to say, _Daddy, fuck me, hurt me_ —

All he can do is hollow his cheeks and hum a little; Washington’s hands fly up to the crown of Alex’s head and clutch his hair, making these barely audible noises. He needs to breathe, needs air and some water, and instead he’s just held still as Washington groans and pushes forward, coming down Alex’s throat without a word.

He doesn’t even know how long it lasts, only that Washington is shaking by the time he’s done. He lets himself be eased up the bed, staring as Washington removes his wrinkled pants and boxers. Lets himself be kissed and fully undressed, Washington dabbing at the corner of Alex’s mouth with his thumb. There’s nothing there (Alex swallowed it all, hot and slightly salty, not unpleasant) but if Washington wants to taste his own come, Alex will play ball. He kisses Washington, sore mouth be damned, using his tongue and then taking it away to make Washington chase him.

It doesn’t take long for Washington to get him pinned, body just above Alex’s and so solid. He hopes Washington can’t feel the way Alex’s heart is hammering from lack of air. So he does what he does best. He distracts.

“I wanted to get fucked,” Alex whines, getting whatever leverage he can to rub against Washington’s thigh. Which backfires tragically; Washington rolls off of him.

“You don’t get to dictate when I come, princess.” Washington nips at Alex’s neck, not even enough to leave a mark. “You’ll take what I give you and you’ll thank me for it.” His hand cracks heavily over Alex’s thighs, just once, but enough to make himself heard. Then his mouth is everywhere, Alex’s lips and stomach and knees. “Hand me the lube,” he says into Alex’s skin, and Alex fumbles blindly with his messy nightstand before finding the bottle and doing what he’s told.

Washington takes his time, kissing back up Alex’s thighs slowly, tickling. Kisses the side of his dick, maddeningly doing nothing more. Kisses Alex’s mouth again, too, long moments where he cups Alex’s face in his hand and and looks at him with this awe that makes Alex want to hide. Instead, he changes the subject.

“Fuck me.” Alex tries to sound strong and ends up around breathless and frazzled. Lucky it seems there’s nothing he can do to make Washington sneer in distaste, and that’s after he found Alex in a drawn-out reddit war about tipping late one night. He rubs up on Washington again for emphasis, the heat and friction making him gasp. But Washington sits up on his haunches and it’s torture.

“Since you asked so nicely.” It’s not all the time that Washington taunts him, denies him something. Makes Alex want it more.

“ _Please_ ,” he adds, and yeah, Alex is well aware that if he keeps this up for another few minutes, he’ll be begging. He doesn’t care, he decides, and then his mouth goes dry as Washington squirts lube onto his first two fingers and takes his time slicking them up.

“Spread your legs, baby.” There’s that accent again; Alex doesn’t need to be told twice. Pulls his knees up and plants his feet on the bed to give Washington more room. And okay, it’s possible he wasn’t relaxed enough because it burns when Washington puts his fingers inside and fuck, thank _god_ , Washington’s stretching Alex open already and he wonders how long until Washington’s good to go.

“ _Daddy_ ,” Alex licks his lower lip, pauses, “please, I want you to come inside me. ” Just as he anticipated, Washington can’t resist that, and his fingers sink in, all the way down to the knuckle. He moans, loud enough that he’s once again thankful for his own apartment, that he doesn’t have to keep quiet or worry about being overheard.

Washington’s not in any hurry, moving his fingers in and out in short, jerky thrusts. Just when Alex is used to the pattern he’ll change it, put them in and keep them there, barely moving, sending sparks of pleasure up Alex’s spine. At some point, he becomes aware of the way sweat’s made his hair stick unpleasantly to his face and neck, feeling incredibly on display. Washington’s looking at Alex like he wants to _devour_ him, and Alex wants to be kissed but can’t seem to make his stomach muscles work so he can sit up.

He’s also not going to stop just to be kissed; he feels hot all over and full, but it’s not enough. Alex says, “Come on, give me another,” and then winces when he’s left empty while Washington adds more lube. “I don’t need that, shit, _do it_ —”

Before he can process anything, there’s a searing hot flash of pain across Alex’s face. The back of Washington’s hand hits his cheek, the corner of Alex’s mouth. Even without his ring, his knuckles might actually bruise Alex’s face. He licks his lips, tastes copper. Smiles. Washington grins back, somehow stern except for his eyes.

“Yes, you do, princess. Don’t question my judgment.” He squeezes Alex’s dick with his clean hand, so hard it hurts and keeps him from catching his breath. Heart pounding with adrenaline and desire, shame about how much he likes getting hit, Alex closes his eyes for a minute, trying to blink away a few tears welling there. 

One of many things Alex appreciates about Washington: he doesn’t baby Alex, doesn’t immediately stop and fuck up his headspace. Doesn’t pretend it’s not happening and double down on the punishment, either. Just examines him slowly, eyes critical, and asks, “Are you alright?”

Alex has to talk, has to actually say yes since his mouth is free, but it takes a minute for him to find the words, watching Washington’s proud expression as he answers that he’s fine.

“Now. Are you going to listen to me, princess, and do what I say?” He rubs his fingers over Alex’s hole, barely pushing in, slicking lube over it again.

“Yes, Daddy.” Alex can’t help licking his lips again. He’ll have to invent an excuse about the split skin tomorrow. He cries out, just a little, when he’s breached again. Three fingers. Washington’s spreading him open, relentless in his actions. Trying to get more friction works for a moment, but then Washington immobilizes him so easily with only one hand. God. Washington curls his fingers just so, so sharp and sweet that Alex thinks he might pass out or just die.

“Alexander.” _Fuck_. Congress has no idea just how ruthless Washington can be. Alex’s nerve endings are aflame and he’s being stretched so wide. He’s ready, but doesn’t say so. “If you want to come, then stop moving,” Washington says, all nonchalant like he doesn’t have complete control.

So Alex stays still, tries to keep the muscles in his arms and thighs from shaking, bites his lip so he doesn’t say a word. Deep breaths. In and out, in and out. It’s almost enough to keep him calm except then Washington rubs his thumb over Alex’s hole and Alex can feel the callus there, Washington’s thumbnail, how full he is and his heartbeat pounding in his ears.

“Please,” Alex whispers into the sheets and maybe Washington will hear him and punish him but he’s so overwhelmed and he barely cares if he comes or gets fucked so long as it’s one or the other. He’s sore in every fiber of his body, breathing hard, probably flushed so red and these sheets, the fancy Egyptian cotton ones Washington bought, are going to be ruined from sweat and lube and god knows what else. At least he’s not being stretched anymore, Washington’s fingers working in and out of him steadily.

He thinks, maybe, that he could come just from this, without even touching his dick again. Then Washington removes his fingers again and Alex hopes, prays, that he’ll have pity and fuck him. Alex says nothing, just moans a little, and that gets Washington to put his fingers back and then he feels Washington’s pinky sliding in and he can’t, it’s too much, he can’t do it _he can’t_ —

“Shh, my boy,” Washington soothes him, and he doesn’t move his fingers one bit but closes a wet palm around Alex’s dick and begins stroking him, not so slowly that Alex will die before he comes but definitely not rough and quick like Alex needs it. Maybe the whole point of this was to trap Alex, who’s now caught between Washington’s hands, free for Washington to do whatever he likes.

Time is meaningless, or indeterminable. It feels like hours that Alex has been in bed, stretched out and played with like a toy. It dawns on him, with four of Washington’s broad fingers inside him, that Alex isn’t going to get fucked like he wants. He’s not being prepared for anything; this is all he’s getting. The pressure building at the base of his spine sneaks up on him, spiraling out into his limbs. Alex’s hips start moving without his permission and Washington _finally_ , fuck, has mercy and starts jerking Alex with purpose.

It’s so good he wants it to last forever, but it only takes a couple minutes before Alex is shaking, every muscle in his body tense, hips arching completely off the bed. He’s so warm and it feels like fever, like summer in the city. Like Nevis. The thought passes. His mind clears, just white-hot pleasure bouncing from point to point inside him. Alex won’t admit to blacking out when he comes but he regains awareness when Washington starts removing his fingers, drawing them out incrementally slow.

He gets kissed now, mouth and nose and forehead. It’s warm and dry and he hums happily.

“Come on, princess,” Washington says. “You need a shower, baby. Let’s get you cleaned up.” And Alex has no qualms with falling asleep in sweat and come, but he knows this isn’t a subject that’s up for debate. He won’t fight it; he’s already sore and achy, gingerly getting out of bed and into the bathroom.

Washington turns on the shower, stepping in as soon as the mirror steams up. Alex lets himself be helped in, letting Washington’s broad chest support him. He gets one of his wishes after all. There’s lots of lazy kissing as Washington shampoos Alex’s hair, scrubs him clean from his ears to his navel and ass.

“You did so well for me,” Washington murmurs. “So pretty, Alexander.”

Alex blushes, touches Washington’s collection of bath products, piled in one corner of the shower, until he’s told to scrub his face with one and does, breathing in the almond and sage scent. He’s not sure he loves the tingly feeling in his face afterward, though he wants to look good.

Drying off afterward, he’s thoroughly worn-out, and finds a pair of clean sweats to wear before practically crawling into bed. It might not take long for him to fall asleep, blessedly. He’s joined a few minutes later when Washington, in soft black pajamas, joins him, quietly eating from a bowl of some trendy nut mix. The TV flickers on, sound low enough that it’s pleasant white noise, and Washington clicks through the channels.

“Thank you,” he says, or tries to. It might come out muffled. He thinks someone on TV is yelling about guns, or healthcare, but Washington flips away from it, and Alex falls asleep against him.


End file.
